Christmas Medley: Twelfth Day of Christmas
by GarryxMrChairFan
Summary: He promised Arthur he'd be home for Christmas, and a hero never breaks his promise, no matter what. Established USUK, modern human!AU, OOC. The twelfth and final installment of "Christmas Medley", a series of multi-fandom one-shots written for the twelve days of Christmas 2013.


**Twelfth Day: ****_I'll Be Home For Christmas_**

~GarryxMrChairFan

**Customary Disclaimer: **Any and all recognizable _Hetalia: Axis Powers _characters (c) Himaruya Hidekaz.

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_**Hope you've all enjoyed enjoyed my little tribute to the season. :3**_

_**Sorry in advance for the light angsty-ness. I've just had this scenario in my head for a bit and wanted to use it. Hopefully it's not too bad. I suck at angst 'cause I never write it. ;A;**_

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Arthur stood in his kitchen, the kettle on the stove heating to boil the water for his tea, the only lighting emitting from the fireplace in his living room and bathing his house in a muted orange-yellow glow alongside the Christmas tree; however, the Briton wasn't currently inside his home, not really.

His forest-green eyes stared unseeing at the marbled granite countertop, his arms hanging limply at his side. His expression was one of utter emptiness, his movements nothing more than automatic habit as his brain registered the screaming whistling and moved him to the stove, leading him through the motions of pouring the water into his cup and steeping the teabag.

The Brit padded zombie-like in his green fuzzy sock-clad feet back to his living room with his tea, sitting himself delicately on the edge of his couch, sliding back into it slowly and curling his pyjama-clad legs underneath himself as he gazed without really looking into the dying flames.

_I should probably stoke it a bit, perhaps throw another log on._

Summoning a scarce bit of motivation, Arthur sighed as he set his tea cup on the coffee table and waddled forward to tend to the fire, poking at it and adding another piece of wood until the flames were once again roaring and he returned to his previous position on the sofa, sipping absently at the Earl Grey in his hand. After countless moments of mindless staring, the blond Englishman turned his attentions to the indigo night sky, snow crystals falling calmly, catching a glance of the ancient grandfather clock against the wall.

_It's almost midnight. The moon's full tonight, isn't it? I've not been keeping accurate track, but I believe it's close if it's not tonight._

_Do you still stay up until ungodly hours of the night to see it? I can't seem to shake the bloody habit._

Arthur could feel silent tears beginning to fall down his cheeks as he sipped again from the warm cup in his hands, emerald eyes glued to the round ethereally glowing sphere overlooking the Earth.

_It seems even brighter in winter, doesn't it? Against the snow, especially. It's been falling rather thickly here, you know. Thick enough for flouncing about it, freezing your arse off as you build snowmen and engrave snow angels into the frozen ground._

A small smile graced his lips for but a moment.

_Has it snowed where you are? _Does _it even snow there, wherever that may be?_

The painful clenching of his chest elicited a harsh sob-like gasp, the tears flowing harder and still as steady. Arthur leaned forward shakily to set his half-empty cup of Earl Grey on the cherry wood coffee table before clawing at the blanket he wrapped around his legs, pulling it up to his chin as he slumped over into the cushions. He buried his face in the fabric, letting out another wrenching sob as he inhaled the scent of the patriotic-themed flannel.

Even after a year, it still smelt of Alfred.

_Why?! Why did you have to go?! Why did you have to leave me?! It's not fair. It's not _bloody fair!

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. After almost a year, he let the anxiety and fear and longing he'd pent up flow free, crying out everything he'd bottled up inside into the favorite blanket of the blond-haired, blue-eyed young man that had captured his heart and had finally gotten him to admit it a few years previous. The sobs wracked his slender body, but apart from the occasional ragged gasp for breath that wouldn't come, he made no sound.

It was the worst sort of pain, the sort that was so unbearable that no noise could adequately embody it, that could describe it or paint an image or give any inkling to the grief felt.

The worst part of it was, however, that Arthur knew it could be so much less drastic…

… or that it could be so much worse.

The pain the Brit felt was the pain of not knowing, the agony of the _fear _of what could be, though was not necessarily true. His imagination could be quite inventive, all those scenarios from the many novels he'd read and the shows he'd seen and simply nothing more than the general assumptions of the unlucky situation in which he found himself.

The small Englishman curled farther into himself, staring helplessly into the burning flames as his tears fell endlessly. He glanced over to the clock once again, illuminated from behind by the glow of the moon, its face lit by the soft glow of the flames. The hands were so close to both pointing skywards, perhaps little more than a minute.

_Where are you, love? Why aren't you here now? You promised me you'd be home, Alfred. It's Christmas Eve, poppet; why aren't you home?_

_Why aren't you home…?_

The old grandfather clock began chiming the hour, an ominous ringing that travelled though the Brit's mind as the heavy rings slowly sounded twelve times. Arthur's body lost all tension, his tight hunch sliding to a loose flop as he allowed his blond head to fall to the side, the unceasing tears gliding into his wheat-colored hair and onto the cushions.

_Don't make me spend Christmas alone, love. Please. Please, please, please; I'm begging you, poppet, you stupid git. You promised. You wouldn't break a promise to me. A hero always keeps his promise…_

_Unless you can't anymore…?_

The tinkling of his doorbell sounded distantly in the Englishman's ears, his mind barely registering its existence in the mind-consuming heartbreak caused by his depressing thoughts. He could be so melodramatic sometimes; he was probably just overreacting because of his paranoia, his fear of the unknown and all the variables.

The tinkling sounded again, and this time Arthur turned his head to the location of his front door, seeming to look through the back of the couch at the dark wood as he attempted to determine if he'd actually heard anything. When it sounded yet again, he debated if he had it in him to roll off the couch and walk the ten feet to the door and answer it. The Briton wasn't sure he could handle any type of company at the moment.

On the fourth ring, he sighed defeated, managing to push himself up and out of the blanket, setting it gently against the cushions as he slightly stumbled towards the door. He couldn't honestly think of anyone that would be at his home at this time of night, especially on this particular date. Foregoing the peephole, he twisted the knob and pulled the door open, leaning against it as he looked up at his visitor, hoping that his state of distress would discourage them from their intent to visit.

Blue eyes the color of an endless, cloudless summer sky, framed by thin wire-rim glasses, and a tired, worn smile brighter than the sun itself in radiance gazed back at him, mussed golden hair hanging just as it always had, the one stubborn cowlick still proudly standing above a tanned forehead. A war-torn Army uniform kept out the chill of the winter air, the camouflage contrasting with the midnight indigo of the sky in the dim porch light.

Arthur couldn't remember how to breathe. This had to be his imagination, right? Wishful thinking the result of sleepless nights. This couldn't be real.

The sparkling love and happiness in those stunning irises was more real than anything he'd ever seen. "Heya, Artie."

And it was as if his fear simply melted away, and Arthur was suddenly in his American's arms, sobbing into his chest as his strong arms encircled his waist, holding him so tightly he still couldn't breathe, but he couldn't find it in himself to care at all.

"Oh, God, Alfred! Alfred, Alfred, Alfred~" The Briton refused to cease chanting his name softly, like a mantra of luck and happiness and he pulled back slightly, cupping his American's face in his hands and pulling him into a passionate and desperate kiss, tangling his fingers in the blond locks that were even softer than he remembered, feeling those lips that were even more tender with him than he could recall, melting at each caress of Alfred's thumbs against the tearstains on his cheeks.

The American pulled back to look at his little Englishman, pressing loving kisses against every available patch of skin he could get to – his cheeks, kissing the tears away; his nose, his forehead, his temples, his chin and returning to his lips in between them all. "It's alright, Artie," he cooed, smiling fondly at the little blond as he removed each tear as it fell. "I'm here now, it's okay. I'm back."

"You git!" Arthur cried, no venom in him as his voice cracked from emotion, letting Alfred scoop him up into his arms. "I-I was almost afraid you'd break your promise!"

Alfred gently turned Arthur's face to his, looking deeply into his deep jade eyes that went on forever and ever. "I'm your hero, Artie. I would never break my promise. Not to you." He pressed a chaste kiss to the Briton's lips. "I said I'd be home for Christmas, and here I am."

Arthur let out a hysteric giggle, hugging his American tighter as Alfred carried him back inside. "Never be gone this long again, you wanker," he muttered with a small smile, the tears now staining his face ones of happiness and relief. "I don't think I could handle it, poppet."

Alfred chuckled, kissing Arthur once again, this one filled with a burning desire and all the love they held for the other. "Don't you worry, Artie. I'm not goin' anywhere for a good long while. We'll definitely be spending many Christmases together in the future."

Arthur couldn't help but stare into those sapphire-like gems, seeing all the reassurance he needed within their depths. He smiled a bright, worry-free smile and kissed Alfred long and hard.

"I love you so much, Alfred. Merry Christmas, love."

"Love you, too, Artie. And a merry Christmas to you, too."

_"Christmas eve will find me where the love light gleams. I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams."_

_END_

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**_If you'd like to read all twelve days of Christmas, please visit my profile to check them out~ All favorites and reviews are welcomed and appreciated~!_**

**_My profile now includes the recommended playlist of all twelve preferred versions of the songs used for this collection. _**

**_Merry Christmas 2013, loves. :3_**

**_~GarryxMrChairFan_**


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